The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had been so long, and it still filled her with dread, but she had to try calling. Sylvia wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse when she reached Aurora’s voice mail.

“Hi, this is Aurora’s phone! Either work needed me, or Rebeca needed me. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” The phone beeped and Sylvia took a deep breath. The recording gave the girl that answered Aurora’s phone a name. Having a name made her more real, and Sylvia hated her enough as a concept. She knew Aurora watched the news like a hawk. She was almost tempted not to leave a message. If Aurora wasn’t already on her way then she was probably busy with something more important.

“Hey Aurora, it’s well, it’s me, Sylvia. You know me, your big sister. I’m back in Midas. Our parents are missing. I don’t know who to turn to. I’m scared—really scared—and I miss you. Please come home. I need you.” Sylvia hung up, and wrapped her arms around herself.

There were no leads. The only thing out of place was a black stain. A black stain isn’t really enough to go on. It’s barely a hint. It’s a sign Valerie needs to teach Sarah how to be domestic. Maybe the police . . .

With a sigh Sylvia picked up the cushion and set it back onto the couch. She flipped it over to examine the stain then blinked. It was gone. She spun the cushion around and around, feeling like a five year old trying to see how many times the Pepsi logo was on a bottle but the stain just wasn’t there.

Sylvia’s eyes grew wide as she started to whimper. The carpet where the cushion had fallen wasn’t stained. She slid her fingers through her hair, leaving them halfway through as her teeth closed around her lower lip. She knew she’d seen it, but it wasn’t there. Her one lead went to no leads. Sylvia replaced the cushion, shaking her head with a quiet scream. She’d never been big on forensic science, or on detective work.

She sat on the cushion and stared at the television remote. She clicked on the TV and sighed. It was on the local station that her parents watched to get the news. It could have been Valerie or Sarah watching it last. Her hope that coming home to Midas wasn’t in vain was quickly evaporating.

Watching television made Sylvia think about Pamela, and thinking about Pamela made her think about Nikki. She wished she had brought Nikki along too. Pamela was a journalist, and that was useful, but she’d feel safer leaving Nikki alone. She’d seen the kind of struggle Nikki could put up, and she would hate to be on the wrong side of Nikki’s fist. When she was near Pamela it felt like she was more important than most other things.

As the gears of her mind twisted and turned to find some form of logic in her actions, something moved inside the cushion. Black and slick, it rose up to stain just under Sylvia.

Nikki is already upset with me. I can’t blame her. I’d put my sister before her, and Nikki knows what happened. I told her everything. I had to for our relationship to be able to work. I want it to work, don’t I? Pamela is more than just a reporter to me, and sometimes when I think about her it feels sexual, sometimes it’s professional. Maybe I should call Nikki and ask her to come? I can’t ask her to do that without telling her I already took Pamela. I need to learn to think before I act. This used to be Aurora’s problem. Maybe having her around was better than I thought . . .

When the slick black stain rose from the cushion and into the seat of her pants, Sylvia barely noticed it. It tingled against the curves of her ass and her thighs, but the distracted singer wiggled against the couch as an afterthought. She gasped when it tingled inside of her thighs, under her flesh.

Sylvia’s thoughts went on hold as she felt the wet tingling along her thighs. The sensation felt like soap that left a stain behind, or like paint drying, only it stayed wet as it moved inside of her, and then the feeling just wasn’t there. Like a lover’s caress the feeling was there and then it was gone. Sylvia stood, glancing down at her ass before she moved into the bathroom and locked the door.

Her pants were dry to the touch and so were her thighs. Between them felt hotter than it should, but there was no visible explanation. She stared down at her own ass, hand caressing along the back of her thighs as she tried to figure out what had happened.

Felt strange, tingled, and then for just a moment . . . everything stopped. I just sort of . . . short circuited. My ass feels nice and smooth, but there’s nothing there. Nothing sticky, nothing at all. Well, besides my ass . . .

Her silver-and-amethyst swirled eyes unfocused as she watched her hand continue to caress along the curves of her thighs. The threads of her thoughts stopped one by one until all that was left was the sight and sensation of her moving hand. Her thighs started feeling more and more sensitive as the slightest bit of slickness and warmth pulsed along them. Her hand followed those feelings, rubbing beside her panties as a soft mewl escaped her lips.

Invisible, the slickness spread along her pleasure-ripe nerves, traveling from her thigh to her mind. Sylvia gasped when she felt her fingers reach the dark spot that had formed on her panties. It made her eyes focus anew and her hand freeze in place.

Her fingertips felt slick, but she knew why. It definitely hadn’t come from the couch. She’d never made herself feel so aroused so quickly, but it was undeniably her own fault.

She squirmed, her cheeks flushing as she rubbed deliberately over the crotch of her panties, shuddering into the familiar feelings. I just spaced out rubbing my own ass and wound up masturbating. I don’t even remember starting to do that. It felt hot. It almost felt like how it feels to be inspired, just a little creative nudge and my hand was over my pussy. At least I didn’t go any further without some conscious thought involved.

With the thought already in her mind, and her fingers still pressing against her moist panties, the decision to stop wasn’t an impossible one. There was precious else to do and her body was alive with need. Like whispered voices or half-formed concepts she felt her lust tease with the concept.

This is home, after all. I could just tease myself a little, maybe have a little peak, then I could go see the police. Slowly her gaze turned to the mirror and she slid her eyes along the image of her reflected body. No wonder all those voices scream when you’re on stage. Now it’s your turn to do a little whimpering. No point in screaming without an audience to savor it.

Sylvia and her reflection locked eyes as their identical hands moved inside their panties. The singer moaned as she teased along her slit. The slickness felt different but good. It felt sexy, and the more she rubbed along her flesh she could almost swear she felt the slickness melting deeper inside of her.

Her eyes looked deeper. Her pupils looked slick, almost glistening. Looking inside them felt hot and almost dirty, like looking inside her own darkest fantasies. Images of Nikki wearing a leash, being tugged between her legs, made Sylvia groan. Thoughts of roles reversed with her on the leash, and then Nikki becoming Aurora, all made her whine as her fingers moved faster. A hint of her power, violet mist with white-hot electric bliss, swirled around her clit.

It wasn’t something she did often, it cheapened the buildup, but it felt so sizzling and made her hips shake so much it almost hurt. The more she stroked herself, the more she swirled her energy around her pearl, the more she felt euphoric inspiration swirl along with the pleasure.

Lyrics and rhythms beat into her mind; notes she’d clumsily tried to string together on Nikki’s guitar meldied in all new ways. Her heartbeat was louder and faster in her ears as she screamed and thrust her fingers inside herself. She could feel the rush of inspiration thrust deeper than her fingers, making her eyes roll back hard as her lips threw open in another scream.

Never screamed without an audience, but I can’t help it. I feel so full of ideas, so full of power, so . . . goddess this feeling is so hot! I feel like I’m being fucked by a muse!

Her toes curled as she felt passion overtake her and her orgasm coincided with darkness wrapping around her mind. Slick, dreamy black drizzled through her consciousness, making the world feel slow and heavy. She was lost in a sea of black that slid through her deepest, most hidden places.

As afterglow set in, the black sucked itself deeper into her mind until the world felt normal again. Sylvia’s eyelids hooded as she braced herself against the counter. Her eyes met the reflection’s again. Their lips quirked in a satisfied grin as she raised a hand to caress the glass where her cheek reflected. She’d never masturbated in front of a mirror before, but she was tempted to buy one for her apartment back in New York.

Sylvia lazily pulled her hand back and slid it along her own cheek to watch her reflection’s eyes hood more at the touch. “Goddess, you’re so sexy. You’re just full of such hot, sexy ideas. Maybe I should go back to the hotel room and share some of them with Pamela. She’s never felt that before.”

The heroine held out her pointer finger and let her power flow. Amethyst mist accented with silver swirled from her fingertip and slowly framed her image in the mirror. Sylvia laughed before snapping her fingers and the flowing mass of energy burst in a bright flash.

I wonder why I never used my powers on Pamela. Something about that feels like a plot hole. For some reason I just don’t feel in a hurry to get back to the hotel room. I wish there was something I could do in the meantime. I don’t feel like being all alone here, but where else to go. . . Knocking on the front door made Sylvia grin. Maybe I don’t need to go anywhere after all. I have a very good feeling about this.

Sylvia left the bathroom and slinked over to the door. She let herself pause for a moment to peek through the peephole before throwing it open. “Auntie Yana . . . It’s been so long!”

“Far too long, Nebby . . . or well, Sylvia I guess. I understand you’ve changed your childhood nickname into a whole new persona?” Yana’s voice was slick and husky, enough so to make Sylvia shudder. “You look a touch too relaxed for it to be appropriate to call you that now, unless you were just taking a break.”

It took Sylvia a moment to recognize the uniform Yana was wearing. She remembered that Yana had taken on her mother’s former identity of Patina, but the mask was in her hand instead of around her eyes. The tight bodysuit looked like latex, but Sylvia remembered it was made of some rare material that blocked her mother’s sparks. She wondered if it would block her own power so full of that same silver energy as she found her eyes trailing along the glistening curves of Yana’s uniform.

She’d never noticed how deep her aunt’s eyes were. She also had never considered that calling her auntie or aunt was so silly. They were only distantly related at best, and Yana living so far away meant they only saw each other for the rare holiday or special occasion.

We aren’t really family . . . really, these thoughts . . . about how wet her eyes look, how grabbable her hips look . . . they aren’t half as bad as the thoughts I’ve had about Aurora. I just feel so inspired when I look at her, so . . . wanting . . . There’s something about her, some intangible heat that gives me all sorts of ideas. I think she likes me looking at her. That looks like her nipple poking out against her costume . . .

“Sylvia?”

“Oh yes, sorry. Was resembling my silver mother for a moment, wasn’t I? Sylvia is more appropriate for the moment. I was taking a little break. I came to find my mothers, and neither of them to be found, no clues . . .” Sylvia stepped back and motioned into her home with a dreamy sigh. “Come in? We have so much catching up to do.”

Yana nodded, stepping past Sylvia with deliberate slowness. Her fingertips lightly brushed Sylvia’s, causing the younger woman to gasp sharply. Her touch was electric and prickled across Sylvia’s skin like pure desire.

Violet-and-silver eyes fluttered as Sylvia slowly closed the door. Without even realizing it she moved her hand and locked it, following close behind Yana. Soon they were in the living room. Yana turned to face her. Something about how soft her skin looked, and how powerful her features were, made Sylvia curious, but a slick tingling brushed away her curiosity as quickly as it came. She was less curious than she was craving.

Her tongue slid out to wet lips that suddenly felt far too dry. She knew that Yana had Aniela, but Sylvia didn’t see Aniela. She did see Yana, with her firm breasts pressing against her slick, shiny top. She saw the way her legs were shaped against the glistening second skin of her costume.

I really shouldn’t do anything about these thoughts, I’m a singer, an artist, and inspiration can take many forms. She’s dripping with inspiration. Famous artists can take whatever they want. They can have whatever they want . . . Why should I be any exception? Sylvia shuddered at the thoughts that drifted through her mind. She felt as slick between her ears as she felt slick between her legs. It was amazingly liberating.

Eyes hooding more, Sylvia slid her hip along Yana’s, leaning into her as she nuzzled along the taller woman’s shoulder. “I’ve got no clue where to go next, besides to the police. Should really find Sarah, and Valerie, but I want something else first.”

“What would that be, Sylvia?” Yana slid her black nails through Sylvia’s hair. Pointed tips raked along the woman’s scalp, making Sylvia arch closer. “Anything I could help with perhaps?”

“I want you . . . Mmm something about you makes me feel like writing songs the radio wouldn’t want to play. Songs about tearing that uniform off of you and making you moan. You used to be a writer, I think you can appreciate the need to do a little research.” Sylvia’s forwardness almost surprised her as she caressed along Yana’s back until she determined the zipper had to be in the front of her costume, and then teased a finger between Yana’s collarbones in response. “Maybe you could help by wiggling out of that costume of yours, and I could explore a song idea or two.”

Yana laughed deeply before she reached up just above Sylvia’s finger and unzipped the costume down to just the pale finger. “A song can tell a million stories, and can be appreciated with only half the attention of a novel. I’m almost envious . . . I haven’t written a story in far too long, but I would love to inspire one in you.”

Eagerly Sylvia grasped the zipper, pulling it down between Yana’s legs before she pulled her uniform open. She felt along the older woman’s bare flesh, letting her power melt out amid every caress. It felt different than it ever had before, somehow wetter, but thicker as she felt over Yana’s shoulders and her chest. The haze of lust that clouded Sylvia’s every thought felt thicker too.

Black nails curled under her costume as Yana pulled it down past her hips, pushing it slowly to the floor as Sylvia leaned forward to kiss between Yana’s breasts. All of Sylvia’s troubles were forgotten as she wrapped her lips around Yana’s nipple and suckled, grinding her still-clothed crotch along Yana’s leg.

As her lips sealed, a slickness flowed into Sylvia’s mouth. It was one she recognized so well by now, the feeling of inspiration, the thrill of dark dripping euphoria that was overflowing from her deepest and most erotic places. She could feel her lips pulling it from Yana’s nipple, filling her with what she craved more than anything else. It was a feeling she needed more than anything else. She wanted Yana and the slick feeling that being near her gave. It was harder to remember the stain, or that she hadn’t felt it before seeing Yana.

It was easier to close her eyes and suckle, feeling black nails stroke through her hair and across her scalp. A sea of black, thicker than tar but sweeter than honey, was consuming her. It felt so much like coming home, like a feeling she’d had so many times before.

Yana grinned as the ink from her nipple deluged Sylvia, reveling in the accepting feelings of her eager mind.